Sent North
by musrreborn
Summary: A story of faith shattered, of lost comrades and lost love, and of one man's quest for final redemption. R&R greatly appreciated.
1. Prologue: Act Five, The Story is Told

Any and all Diablo characters present in this story belong to Blizzard Entertainment, and not to me. This story will be updated on Fridays, whether I get reviews or not (although I would like them), so keep reading, and I hope you enjoy this fic!

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Prologue: Act Five, The Story is Told.

He tried to shout his battlecry as he charged upon the last of the Ancients, but it died in his throat. For the first time in his life, "truth" and "honor" were lies to him. So he bore down upon the defender of Mount Arreat wordlessly, swinging his flail high above his head, and bringing its ball down upon the neck of Talic with a sickening crack. Just as quickly, Talic vanished. The battle was over.

"_You are indeed worthy, stranger. But we sense darkness within your heart. We shall not grant you entry to the Worldstone Keep._"

The victorious warrior was unsurprised. He dropped to one knee, holding the haft of his flail perpendicular to his thigh, and tried to murmur a few words of prayer and thanks for victory. Again, the words would not come. Even if he tried to visualize them in his head, they twisted and bent until they were nothing but blasphemies. He had been marked with the Shadow, and cast out from the Church. He was a son of Zakarum no more.

"Hai, Ancients," Abreen ad'Din saluted, hoping that the Ancients would mistake his assumed stance of prayer as one of reverence. "If I told you my story, and how I came to be here, might you judge me again?"

"_We would judge again, stranger. Whether we would find you worthy this time, we cannot say._"

"My thanks, Ancients. But this is not merely my story – the story of Abreen ad'Din, Son of Zakarum and Paladin of the Church of Light. This is the story of seven others whose lives have touched my own, and have brought me to this moment. Will you hear? I implore you."

"_Speak, Abreen ad'Din. We will hear._"

For a moment, Abreen merely remained in his prayer stance, reviewing his story in his head. He was struck by the darkness inherent in his path, even when he walked in the Light. How many had died for him and for the Church, thoughtlessly? Abreen straightened up, offered a bow to the golden statues of three mighty warriors in their own respects, and began his story.

"Did you live your lives under any illusions, Ancients? Did you ever pause to think that everything you might have lived for was a lie? Neither did I. But ere I stood before you here, I learned the truth. I learned it at the cost of lives near and dear to me and at the cost of the faith I had held since childhood. I learned that we live for nothing." The Ancients remained silent, but they were listening. Abreen was sure of it.

"You see me before you here, seemingly a man of the Church and a Paladin of Zakarum. But I tell you that I have been rejected. Cast out. I was sent north to Harrogath by a being that I had placed my faith in all my life, and I have been cursed even as I was blessed once before. I have become _khammi_ – do you know that word, Ancients? In the scriptural language of the Church, it means "ignorant", like one who is ignorant before hearing the teachings of the Church, but it also means "traitor" – and even now, I am not granted refuge from my torture. I cannot seek it in life, for I am cursed now and forever. And I cannot seek it in death (for even torture everlasting in the Burning Hells would be preferable to the state of consignment that I live in now) because apparently, I am still needed. Look at me here, Ancients! Seven brave men and women, whom I called my friends, have died for me, not to mention a Brother of my Church! We are taught as Paladins to resist our enemies and the enemies of the Church, even to the point of shedding our blood, and giving our lives. Yet it is their lives which have been given, and even now, my blood remains unshed. This is my destiny, I was told, and my curse."

"I could tell you why I have been sent here, and what I seek to do within. I am sure those words would be sufficient to grant me entry. But to whom else can I tell the story that truly must be revealed here – that of Abreen ad'Din and the seven wanderers unfortunate enough to have crossed his path, and that of Anmin ar'Radim, my brother Paladin? So I ask you again, Ancients: will you hear? I implore you."

"_We will hear your story to its end, Abreen ad'Din. Speak._"

"I thank you, Ancients, from the very core of whatever black heart yet remains to me. The true story begins not here, and not in Kurast, but far away from this mountain, upon the Cold Plains of the Western Lands, beyond the great desert and the mountain pass. Now, I begin this account of my cursed journey, and my fateful revelations..."

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Coming next: Chapter One: Act One, Moya's Song.


	2. Chapter One: Act One, Moya's Song

Any and all Diablo characters present in this story belong to Blizzard Entertainment, and not to me. Originally I said the fic would be updated on Fridays, but I'm feeling like writing more. So it'll be updated whenever I write something new.

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Chapter One: Act One, Moya's Song.

A fierce wind blew through the Cold Plains, howling its way into Abreen's head. He and two other paladins had been sent here over a month ago by the Church of Light to look for a lost brother paladin. Apparently, the man they were looking for, Anmin ar'Radim, had been deployed to the western lands in order to keep watch over the Rogues – more properly, the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye – and to ensure that their little religion did not become _too_ heretical. Eventually, of course, the Sisterhood would have to be brought under the Light, just like all other blasphemers, but for now, they were serving the Church's purpose quite nicely. But ar'Radim hadn't been seen for weeks. The few Rogue scouts and warriors that Abreen and his comrades had sighted had said little, other than to warn the paladins of foul creatures at large in the lands.

None of the three paladins had known what was in store for them as they moved further on towards the Rogue Monastery. They had been hoping to speak to the High Priestess of the Sisterhood, Akara, and to try to learn all that they could about ar'Radim's presence. But the Rogues' warnings had been dire, and demonic beasts roamed the lands relentlessly. Early in the second week of their deployment, an enormous gorilla-like creature had killed Mazel at'Tadid, and not long after, Carnid ash'Shanar had taken sick, possibly infected by the virulent bile of some creature or other that the paladins had slain. ash'Shanar had died earlier today, in the tent that Abreen had set up for him. Abreen was showing no ill signs. Perhaps the disease wasn't contagious, or perhaps it was divine protection. Either way, Abreen was alone now.

He hadn't seen a Rogue – or anyone besides his brother paladin, for that matter – in days. The plains seemed to go on endlessly, and the weather alternated between awful blustery days like this one and miserable freezing rain. Abreen knew that he didn't have many options. Either it was stay here and wait for succor, or attempt to press on towards the Monastery. With a sigh, Abreen began to pack up his belongings. It was going to be a cold, dreary day, and likely filled with blood and combat. Abreen knelt briefly, offering a short prayer for guidance throughout the day, and set out on his way east, leaving his brother paladin buried in a secluded place that would hopefully not be disturbed by monsters.

It was slow going, hindered by the rain that had began to fall shortly after Abreen's departure, and of course periodic attacks by the various creatures that inhabited these cursed plains. The most prominent were little pygmy demons, sometimes accompanied by a shaman that drove them on with chants in their harsh language while throwing fireballs, but demonic birds and gorillas like the one that had killed at'Tadid were also out in force. With a sort of dismal boredom, Abreen began to approach a camp of the little demons. Although their numbers were great, he was far too strong to be overwhelmed by sheer volume. "Truth and honor! For Zakarum!" he cried, charging headlong into the battle, his flail swinging overhead before coming down like thunder, smashing the skulls of the little creatures. Among the shouts and screeches of the demon language, Abreen realized a different sound was becoming audible. Someone was singing in a high, sweet voice nearby. Slowly wading through the remains of the fallen creatures, Abreen crept around the camp and came upon a welcome sight: another human being.

She was quite a sight, too. Her long black hair, taken back in a cascade of curls that surely had not been easy to prepare, fell nearly to her hips, which were admirably slender. She wasn't very tall, but seemed to glow with an authority that had nothing to do with stature. Her mouth was open and her eyes sparkled with delight; it took Abreen a moment to realize that it had been she who was singing as she dealt death to the tiny demons. Bolts of electric energy flew from her cinnamon-colored hands, seeking and annihilating the fallen as they tried to escape. Within moments, only ashes and the vile stench of the roasted creatures remained. Still unaware that she was being watched, the sorceress came to her knees among the blackened corpses of her victims. She cupped her hands at her chin, as if to drink from them, and sang:

"_Li' maeta mas'ha tamim adra'_

_al'ahm mit'din annim am-Ska,_

What is death and what is life?

Death is life, and life death,

Where is harmony among strife?

We'll still fight while we draw breath,"

she finished in the common tongue. She rose from her knees and brought her right hand briefly to her breastbone, head slightly raised, fingers pointing to her neck, and then closed her fist and brought it down to her side again. Abreen was sure he had seen that gesture made before. It didn't look like a traditional Zann Esu ritual, although he had to admit that he had not studied such things in detail. The rituals and practices of blasphemers were best left to the brothers of the Golden Hand society – the Inquisitors of the Church of Light. Zann Esu heretic or not, she was the only contact from elsewhere he had seen in days, and would likely be the only such contact he would see in days to come. Emerging from his concealment behind one of the now-burning tents, he took two steps towards her. Her reaction was instantaneous – her hands flared up in blazing energy and she took a step backwards, her pretty face momentarily marred by a flash of alarm. Seeing that she was agitated, Abreen stepped backwards and laid his flail upon the ground, raising his empty hands as a gesture of peace. "Haiu, stranger," he said. "Be not afraid," he said gently. "What is your name?"

Once she had realized what he was – a son of Zakarum – she recoiled angrily, although the sparks went out of her hands almost immediately. "I don't fear a dog of Zakarum," she spat. "Stay away from me!"

Abreen was shocked. He'd dealt with several Zann Esu in his service to the Church, and their attitudes had ranged from cooperative to a kind of wary "you respect me and I'll respect you" sentiment. Open hostility from a sorceress was never something he'd had to face. "Pardon, my lady," he said, suppressing a momentary wince at giving a heretic that title, "but I truly mean you no harm. I am Abreen ad'Din, of the Zakarum. I have laid down my weapon. I am lost and confused, and I ask for succor." He paused. "Will you help me? I implore you."

His tone must have struck something in the Zann Esu woman somehow. She took a tentative step closer, still wary. "You say you're lost? Are you alone here," and here she obviously restrained herself from heaping abuse on him, "_paladin_?"

"I am alone, my lady. I'm looking for the Rogue Monastery. Might you send me on?"

"Don't go to the Monastery," she said shortly. "I'm fleeing from there." She looked him over briefly, clearly sizing him up. Wondering, perhaps, if he was trustworthy. She stepped forward brusquely and offered her hand.

"Will I get shocked if I shake with you?" Abreen joked, attempting to lighten the situation. He wasn't sure where the laughing, singing woman of just a few minutes ago had gone, but this Zann Esu clearly didn't trust him any further than she could throw him.

"The magic is gone," she said, unsmiling. Abreen took her hand, pumping twice and looking into her eyes, in the eastern fashion. She didn't return his gaze, dropping her eyes nearly immediately. "I'm Moyalina t'Anerin. That's Moya, to you. I won't say I'm pleased to meet you, because I'm not. But I could use a companion for a little while, even one of your ilk."

Abreen supposed that was as much welcome as he was going to get. "Very well, my lady. Tell me – what has happened at the Rogue Monastery?"

"It doesn't belong to the Rogues any longer," she said flatly. "Come on. We had best get moving west."

"West?"

"Yes, west. Come. I'll tell you the story as we go." And so Moyalina t'Anerin joined paths with the doomed paladin Abreen ad'Din. She was the first of his seven companions to join his quest into the east, and although she did not know it, her fate was sealed at that very moment when she joined her hand with his.

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Coming next: Chapter Two, Act One: Cast Out.


	3. Chapter Two: Act One, Cast Out

Any and all Diablo characters present in this story belong to Blizzard Entertainment, and not to me. Originally I said the fic would be updated on Fridays, but I'm feeling like writing more. So it'll be updated whenever I write something new.

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Chapter Two: Act One, Cast Out.

"So now, the Rogues have made camp close by here?" Abreen asked. He and Moya were traveling west, moving fairly quickly despite the pouring rain and periodic monster attacks. He and Moya was unaffected by the rain, seemingly protected under a transparent barrier that she had woven. That was quite a trick, even for a heretic, Abreen thought.

Moya nodded. She had begun to warm up to her present company, although only a little. Her deep mistrust of his Order still tinged her thoughts, he saw. "Yes. Just west of here."

They trudged on without saying anything for quite some time, and then Abreen ventured, "It must be terrible, being cast out from your home and forced to live in seclusion."

Moya's eyes narrowed at that. She visibly restrained herself from comment, turned her head to face forward, and kept on walking. Almost immediately after, the barrier that she had woven over the two of them broke, and rain began to pour down on Abreen again. He looked over at her, and saw that she was still holding it around herself. The message was clear.

Abreen rolled his eyes to the cloudy, thundering sky. What had he done this time? It seemed like he could barely even talk to her without offending her somehow. They passed the next hour or so in silence, with him either smashing a monster in his path with his flail, or her frying it at a distance, until finally Abreen could see smoke rising into the air and could see the bare wooden walls of an encampment rising from the moor. "We're here," Moya said shortly.

As they approached the camp, Abreen could see various rogues with arrows held at the ready. One of these, he thought he had seen while he and his brother paladins were wandering. They had passed a few words. Now she had a huge healing gash along her neck and up to the right corner of her lips. She'd been lucky to survive, he thought. A blazingly red-headed woman strode out from the assembled rogues. She wore no weapon, but carried a certain aura of command. "Strangers," she said, "what is your business with the Sisterhood?"

Abreen stepped forward. "Haiu, rogue," he said, laying down his weapon at his feet. "I am Abreen ad'Din, Son of Zakarum and Paladin of the Church of Light. This is my companion, Moya Anerin, she of the Zann Esu. We come in the Light, and bear no malice to your camp or your Sisterhood."

The red-headed rogue raised an eyebrow. "A paladin and a sorceress traveling together? Now I've seen everything." She beckoned. "Come. Welcome, outlanders, to our glorious hovel."

As they followed the rogue into the camp, Moya cast an ugly look at Abreen. "What!?" he objected, beginning to get irritated at her constant disapproval.

"That was Kashya, the military leader of the Sisterhood, and you address her so informally? Can't you show any respect at all?" Moya hissed angrily.

"How was I to know? I've never been here before in my life, and we didn't study such..." He paused momentarily. _Such heresies_ was what he'd been about to say, but he thought better of it, "...such alternate lifestyles in the Church of Light."

"Typical," Moya muttered, and that was all he could get out of her. As Kashya led them into the camp, Abreen was able to get a good look at what was happening. There were a few warriors scattered around, but the Sisterhood's ranks seemed to have been incredibly thinned in the short time since the last visit by the Church. A pair of merchants chatted by a large caravan, supervised by a rogue archer.

Nearby was an unlikely pair – a trio, he should say rightly. A short, stocky, red-haired girl was poking a spear at what seemed to be an unformed lump of metal, while a skinny, pale man stood reclining against a fence and reading. After her third uneventful poke, the girl looked at the man and asked, "Tilio, why won't it move?"

"It'll eat your spearpoint if you don't stop," the man responded without even looking away from his book.

"Really?" The girl looked doubtfully at the metal object and cautiously poked it again. This time, even as Abreen watched in horror, the thing stirred and made a clumsy grab for the girl's spear. She yanked it back too quickly, giggling. "Ooh, it's scary, Tilio! Don't you think so?"

The man she'd called Tilio made no response, but realization struck Abreen: he was a necromancer, more properly called a Priest of Rathma, but a necromancer nonetheless. For a moment, Abreen was paralyzed by this vision of evil in his vicinity. The Church of Light had long taught that heretics such as the Zann Esu and the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye were to be tolerated until such time that the Church gained supremacy, and then they would be properly brought under the Light. However, the Church also stated that there were two main threats to the strength of Zakarum in this world, and that they were the Priesthood of Rathma, and the Skatsim, also known as the Old Religion. So here, before him, was one of these evil-spawned necromancers, so close to his weapon.

Abreen debated momentarily, but decided that he would better serve the Church not by martyring himself to kill one of the necromancers, but rather by finding ar'Radim as he had originally been commanded. He continued to follow Kashya and Moya, not looking back at the necromancer, his companion, and his vile spawn.

Kashya soon brought them before a gold-colored tent. "High Priestess Akara, these outlanders have come to seek an audience with you," she said.

The tent opened, and the High Priestess of the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye emerged, dressed in deep purple robes and wearing a pendant emblazoned with the Eye. "Welcome, children," she said softly.

Moya made a deep bow and murmured some words of greeting, but Abreen saw his chance to gain favor with the Rogues and to show her up as well. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head and presenting his weapon to Akara's hand, proclaiming, "Abreen ad'Din of the Zakarum salutes High Priestess Akara and pledges his loyalty to her honor. Well met, Priestess."

Moya's face was the picture of shock. Akara and Kashya also seemed taken aback, but the High Priestess recovered quickly, touching the haft of Abreen's weapon briefly and making a sign of benediction above him. "Rise, son of Zakarum," she said. "Rise with my blessing."

Abreen did so, knowing that even to accept the blessing of a heretic was an offence punishable by excommunication. But he had work to do in the service of his Church, and in such instances, sins could be forgiven. "I thank you, Priestess. I have traveled from afar to speak with you."

"To what do we owe the honor of another visit from the Church of Light, and so soon?" the High Priestess asked.

"Another visit, you say? So ar'Radim has been here, then?"

"Was that his name? He introduced himself as Anmin."

"That's the man I'm looking for. What can you tell me about his visit, Priestess?"

Akara paused. "It was perhaps a month ago – certainly before we were expulsed from our Monastery. He said that he came as an ambassador from the Church, and was seeking information about Tristram."

"About Tristram, you say?" Now Abreen was getting interested. The events at Tristram – horror of horrors, the unbinding of Diablo himself! – had involved the Church of Light quite intimately. The _khammi_ Lazarus, formerly an Archbishop of the Church, had traveled there to "spread the glory of the Light" to its inhabitants. But he had never been heard from since, and it had become apparent to the High Council that he had betrayed them. Was the Council now seeking to make an investigation of those dire events?

"Indeed. Of course, by then, Tristram had been destroyed, so..."

Abreen was dumbstruck. He could also see that Moya, who had remained quiet throughout the conversation, was troubled. "I'm sorry, Priestess. Tristram was destroyed?"

"Oh. Of course, you wouldn't know. The minions of Hell have returned to Tristram and razed it, may the Eye watch over us all. Darkness walks the land again, and under the name of Andariel."

"Andariel? One of the Lesser Evils walks the earth? I must return to Kurast immediately and inform my superiors of this..."

"Pardon, good paladin, but you cannot. Andariel has taken up residence in our Monastery to the east, and is blocking all passage east through the Rogue Pass. Her demonic armies are strong, and are supplemented with our sisters."

"Your sisters have been betraying you?"

"Not exactly, no. But they have fallen under the demonic corruption of Andariel, and have been driven insane now." Kashya and Akara looked particularly grim at this point.

"My condolences," Abreen said. "But the issue at hand – did ar'Radim leave before or after Andariel took over the Monastery?"

"He left before she did. This...situation...is a relatively recent development. I'm sorry, Abreen, but he could be halfway to Scosglen by now, for all we know." Akara's eyes were downcast.

"It matters not. I will find him," Abreen replied. "But you are clearly in need of succor. The taint of Evil must be purged from this land. I will cleanse this wilderness." He dropped to one knee once more. "Andariel will be destroyed, the path reopened, and the Monastery returned to its rightful owners. I, Abreen ad'Din, son of Zakarum and Paladin of the Church of Light, swear it."

Not to be outdone, Moya raised her right hand to her breastbone. The familiarity of that gesture struck him again. "I, Moyalina t'Anerin, swear it also." She brought her hand to her side and added, "_Am-na'do, am-na'da, am-Ska_."

"Excuse me," said a dry voice, cutting off Moya's recital. Abreen and Moya turned to see the pale man who had been reading earlier. He still held a tome in one hand, his finger keeping the place. "I couldn't hope overhearing your conversation. You intend to confront the Maiden of Anguish?"

"What is it to you, necromancer?" Abreen snapped. He couldn't help himself. It was the zealot inherent in all sons of Zakarum speaking. "You wish to give her advance notice, is that it?"

"Abreen!" Akara said sharply. "This is a guest of our encampment. I expect you to show him the same respect that we show you. All are equal, here. This is Tilio. Tilio, this is Abreen, and Moyalina."

"A pleasure," the man said, bowing and then offering his hand. Moya took it, beaming, and saying, "Call me Moya. I'm pleased to meet you." Abreen made a grudging bow, but did not shake the necromancer's hand.

"Maryam! Come here and make your manners, Maryam!" Tilio shouted. The red-haired girl, still poking at the golem, called back, "I've almost made it get up, Tilio! Leave me alone!"

Tilio rolled his eyes. "She'll be along in a moment," he said. There was a sickening crack, and then a crunch, and finally a piercing scream. "It ate my spearpoint! Hey! That was my only spear! Give it back, give it back, you stupid thing!"

Moya looked slyly at the necromancer. "You made it do that, didn't you?"

The corners of his mouth twitched. "I did nothing of the sort. Maryam, darling, come here and talk to these nice people!"

"Oh, _all right_," she shouted. The girl trudged up, holding her remarkably un-lethal spear dejectedly in one hand. "I'm Maryam, pleased to meet you, how are you all, fine, good to hear it, bye." She turned, but Tilio shot out a hand and grasped her shoulder. Maryam turned back to face Abreen and Moya, heaved a theatrical sigh, and said, "Alright, alright. My name's Maryam Summersong, of the South Seas Amazons."

Abreen had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. As if a necromancer and a Zann Esu weren't enough! Now he had to deal with this new Amazon heresy. But he supposed he had to "make his manners," as the necromancer had said. "Abreen ad'Din, of the Church of Light," he said, extending his hand. The girl ignored it and instead pushed herself into him, hugging him tightly. He hadn't been expecting it, and she was heavier than he would have thought. His knees almost buckled from sustaining the force of his own armor and her weight, but he managed to stay standing. The top of Maryam's head brushed his chin, and then she withdrew and turned to Moya.

"I'm Moya t'Anerin, of the Zann Esu," the sorceress said, and then endured the same hug that Abreen had. She was expecting it this time, but she was considerably more slender than the paladin, and was almost bowled over. Maryam was a little shorter than Moya, but at least fifty pounds heavier.

The girl released Moya, who looked more than a little short of breath, and beamed happily at the two of them. "Ok! Nice to meet you two!" She turned to Tilio. "Now can I go and get my spearpoint back?"

"The golem ate it, Maryam. You can't get it back."

"I'll get it back," Maryam said stubbornly.

"All right, dear. So long as you're happy. Don't punch or kick the golem, though, you'll hurt yourself."

"Ok!" Maryam said excitedly, and waved to Moya and Abreen before racing back, point-less spear in hand, to poke the golem again.

"She's quite remarkable, isn't she?" Tilio murmured.

"You said 'darling' and 'dear,'" Moya commented. "Are you related to her?"

"Me? Oh, no, no," Tilio replied. "I only met her a couple of weeks ago. I'm just...taking care of her, I guess. You see she needs someone to take care of her, yes?"

"Yes..."

"How old is she?" Abreen asked suddenly. To tell the truth, he'd been quite fascinated with the girl. She was like nothing he'd ever seen before.

"She's eighteen years old," Tilio replied, and just as quickly responded to the surprised looks on the faces of his audience, "I know, you can't believe it either. But it's true. See, in the Amazon Islands, the girls and boys are allowed run free and do whatever they want until they're 15. Then the boys are taught the principles of government, civil service, and priesthood, and the women are taught the ways of war."

"So what happened then?" Moya asked.

"At 15, they tested her. Apparently, she was very skilled with the spear. But she was...an anomaly, I suppose."

"How so?"

"Well, there are four main deities in the Amazon religion that pertain to warfare: Zerae, of thunder, Karcheus, of ice, Hefaetrus, of fire, and Athulua, of all. Karcheus and Hefaetrus lend their blessings to arrows and bolts, and Zerae lends hers to the spear." Tilio continued, "When they tested Maryam, they found that if she followed the techniques that they taught her to add the strength of Zerae to her strikes, that instead she unleashed freezing effects."

"So?" Moya asked. "So she can use her powers differently from other Amazons."

"It's not that easy. The priests ruled that the fact that she applied the power of Karcheus to her spear was a blasphemy in their religion. That kind of thing is usually punishable by death, but she was only 15 years old, of course."

"By death? For using the gifts of her gods differently!?" Moya was outraged. "That's ridiculous!"

Tilio shrugged. "That's their culture, my lady Zann Esu. That's their religion. We have to respect the cultures of others." Tilio's words struck to Abreen's heart. It seemed as if the necromancer were deliberately trying to provoke his anger. "Anyway, they ruled that she would be placed in the care of a custodian until she was eighteen years old – an adult, in Amazon reckoning – and then exiled for the gods to work their wills with her. She was never taught what it means to be a responsible adult. She's still a child, in her mind and in her heart."

"An adult?" Moya nearly shrieked, and in this, Abreen had to agree with her. "She's just an overgrown child! And those heartless...those vile...priests threw her off their islands?"

"Yes," Tilio said dispassionately. "They marooned her along the Twin Seas coastline, close to Aranoch. She says that she wandered for a while until coming out of the scrublands, living off the land, as Amazons are taught, and eventually came to the area of this place they call the Black Marsh.

"And what happened there?"

"She met me there," Tilio answered. A faint trickle of emotion seemed to be entering his voice now. Abreen felt his pre-formed dislike of the man beginning to melt ever so slightly. "I was overwhelmed by the undead, and out of mana. I'm sure I wouldn't have lasted much longer. She saved my life."

"And that's why you're taking care of her now," Moya finished.

"Yes. I swore an oath to serve her in compensation for her act, but in reality, I was swearing to protect her however I could. Besides, it's good to have a strong arm on my side. I'm afraid my weapons are a little less physical than a good spear and some weight behind it."

"And what are you doing abroad, necromancer?" Abreen asked. He had been spellbound during Tilio's story, but now he wanted to learn more about his adversary.

"My Priesthood has learned of true threats to the Great Cycle. I am a scholar hoping to learn more of the nature of this evil. That's why I wish to accompany you on your quest to slay Andariel. There is no way better to learn than through direct study."

"And what about Maryam? She surely can't accompany us. She'll wander off and get her silly self killed," Abreen accused.

"Don't fear for her. Trust me, if there's one thing that poor girl understands, it's how to defend herself. Put a spear in her hands...a new spear, mind you, that's the third one she's managed to feed to my golem this week...and she'll be just fine," Tilio replied.

"I'm for it, Abreen," Moya commented. "We could use more help."

"What is this 'we,' Moya? Every other second, you fly off the handle and decide either to scream at me or just not to speak to me. Now you think we're all going to go off on an adventure together? Not if we don't get some things straight."

"I think perhaps I could clear up some of this difficulty," Tilio interjected. "Judging from what I observed of my lady Zann Esu, she—"

Moya cut him off, roses high in her cinnamon cheeks. "Don't. Say. Anything. We'll talk about _that_ later, Tilio."

"As you wish, my lady," he said, with a short, grave bow.

Abreen was intrigued. Tilio _was _a scholar, after all. Maybe he knew what Moya was up to, with that song, and the gestures, and the other language she lapsed into sometime. "Never mind. I'm very tired, and it's getting late. I'm going to get some rest, alright?"

"An excellent plan," Tilio said. "Moya, get Maryam to stop harassing my golem and ask the Rogues to prepare you two a tent. I will exchange a few words with Abreen in the meantime."

Moya looked them over warily, no doubt wondering, as Abreen was, what words these would be, exactly. But she nodded and headed over to Maryam's direction with a big smile on her face.

"What is it, necromancer?" Abreen asked, the hostility coming back into his voice as Tilio drew him aside.

"Abreen, do you want Maryam and I to come along on your quest? I'll understand if you don't want to be in the presence of a necromancer and an Amazon woman with the mindset of a twelve-year-old girl."

"No," Abreen managed, and he felt terrible at hearing his feelings put into such words, spoken matter-of-factly by Tilio. "No, it's all right. Your help will be appreciated. Just...a question. There's nothing...indecent...going on between you and the girl, is there?"

Tilio chuckled drily, apparently not offended at all by the question. "Indeed not. I care for her, yes, but not in the way you suggest."

Abreen suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment. "I'm sorry, nec—Tilio. That was crude."

"No, no, not at all, Abreen. I merely found it amusing. I see that my appearance has you fooled as well."

Abreen was puzzled. His appearance? His hair was a fine, stringy white, but he seemed robust and in good health. "I'm sorry?"

"I'm much, much older than I look, good paladin. All priests of Rathma learn the secrets of life and death very early – and how to manipulate them. What would be the point of taking in all this information that I have learned over so many generations, only to lose it so quickly?"

"Are you saying...are you saying that you live forever?" Abreen was thoroughly taken aback. In his shock, he had forgotten the inherent heresy in all of this.

"Not forever, no. To upset the Great Cycle in such a fashion would be an abomination. As abhorrent to us, I suppose, as a young girl wielding an ice-enchanted spear was to the Amazons..." Tilio was momentarily silent and reflective. "But, I have lived a very long time. When will I die? Who can know that? I'll die when the Cycle decrees it."

Abreen nodded. His tight little Zakarum worldview had changed rapidly over the past few days, but he didn't intend to let these heresies destroy his faith. He would merely use them to enhance his own understanding. "Very well. You and I are going to share a tent tonight, yes?"

Tilio nodded. "Don't worry – my golem will stand outside with the Rogue guards and keep watch."

Abreen scoffed inwardly at that, because he hadn't seen what that lump of metal was capable of yet. But he said nothing except a curt, "Goodnight, then," to the necromancer, and began to set up a tent. It had been a long day. It looked to be a longer one tomorrow.

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Coming next: Chapter Three: Act One, First Steps East.


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